


No Light, No Light

by DaftPunk_DeLorean



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Science Bros Week, Science Bros Week 2017, disabling injury, in which everyone is a scientific/medical/engineering badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 22:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaftPunk_DeLorean/pseuds/DaftPunk_DeLorean
Summary: In the process of saving the world, Tony suffers a debilitating injury that could change the course of the rest of his life. He turns to technology to bring himself back, although maybe not quite in the way anyone imagined.Written for Science Bros Week 2017, all seven prompts included in the story!7/10: Light7/11: Pending7/12: Rush7/13: Pierce7/14: Triumph7/15: Eclipse7/18: Yours





	No Light, No Light

**  
_Light_  
**

“Tony! Tony, what’s happening?” 

Tony could barely hear the sound of Bruce’s shout over the comms, the rush of air rapidly decompressing in his suit drowning everything else out.

“It’s not working!” he yelled, his voice strained. “The suit’s decompressing, my I-beam is down!” He scrambled in flight, trying to manually release the main repulsor that had jammed from the metal of his armor melting around it. It was all he could do to keep power to the remaining repulsors he had, to fight the enormous pull of gravity that sucked at him like quicksand, dragging him closer and closer to the boiling heat of the sun. 

He watched in panic as his Iron Army, one by one, failed and fell into the sun, evaporating into nothing, not even a pit of molten gold-titanium alloy. He scrabbled at the soft metal that covered the I-beam, his fingers burning up inside as though he was gripping the tip of a soldering iron. Goddamn, he was literally melting.

Never before had the story of Icarus resonated so loudly with him as it did at this very moment. 

Dizzy from the heat, squinting against the excruciating, blinding light, sweat mixing with tears as parts of his skin burned inside the armor, he grit his teeth and finally got the repulsor free, yelling in agony and fear and hope as he fired it. 

It was just enough.

Every system in the suit overloaded and whined as the power drained, the armor rattling around him until his teeth might fall out. He wasn’t going to make it. The sun burned hot, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the light, but couldn’t afford to raise his hands to shield his mask from the burning, and lose the push that his hand repulsors offered him. He swore the armor was peeling away, but it couldn’t be, or he’d be dead. 

Maybe he already was dead, and this was his hell. The armor that gave him so much freedom had become his coffin, where he would burn alive for an eternity.

Ten eternities passed, but with a mighty whine from his I-beam, Tony finally escaped the sticky pull of gravity. Then his suit collapsed, as broken and exhausted as he was. Powered down, useless. Tony was barely conscious, overheated and shaking. The HUD was gone, and he floated aimlessly away from the sun in velvety darkness toward Peter Quill’s ship, where Bruce waited. All he had to do was wait for them to retrieve him. 

It was okay. His armors had redirected the meteor into the sun.

Earth was safe. 

Tony panted, his thoughts fractured and nearly incoherent from the overwhelming heat, and he vaguely thought he should at least be able to see Peter’s ship by now. Then he startled as an arm jostled him around his waist, pulling him close, and knuckles knocking on his helmet.

“Ton- -n there?” Tony heard faintly over the comm, garbled and tinny, like he was hearing it through a tin can underwater. It must be Peter, pulling him back in, but with the HUD down, he couldn’t tell. He nodded, hissing in pain as he was moved, then bumped, then laid down. He cried out when artificial gravity engaged and his body dropped inside the suit, burnt skin pressing into the hot metal, undersuit surely melted to his flesh. 

“Tony! Jesus Christ, I told you not to go out there-“ Bruce shouted, gingerly peeling away layers of armor. “-oh god, Tony, you- you’re burnt…” Bruce breathed, and once his arms were free, Tony scrabbled fruitlessly at the helmet, ignoring his blistered fingers. Shit, he needed air, he needed-

“Get it off! _Get it off!”_ he shouted, strained, and when the relatively icy air hit his face, he gasped it in, cooling his burning lungs, sucking in precious oxygen. The heat on his skin prickled painfully as it constricted, but he could manage. He _would_ manage. He’d had burns in his workshop before, this was just- well, worse, but he would manage. 

He finally sighed, feeling calmer, despite the pain, and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, easing the fire there. But when he finally pried his eyes open around the dried tears that glued them shut, there was something wrong. 

“Bruce-“ Tony said tightly, touching his fingertips to his eyes, feeling over his face and head, blinking rapidly.

“Tony, what’s the matter?” Bruce said, and Tony could feel him leaning close, feel his breath on his face, a gentle touch of his hand over Tony’s. Tony groped for Bruce’s hand, clutching at his sleeve with trembling fingers. 

“I- _fuck._ Bruce-” Tony whispered, his eyes wet and stinging, head blazing with a kind of migraine the likes of which he’d never known, only rivaled by his heart racing in his chest. “Bruce. I- I can’t see. Jesus fucking- _I can’t see!”_

 

**  
_Pending_  
**

Bruce did his panicked best, while Tony sat in uncharacteristic, stony silence. Tony could tell Bruce was doing that thing where he was crumbling in frustration, not knowing what to do, but pretending he had it all under control and was the voice of calm and reason that everyone needed. But he gave himself away by getting snappish every time Tony pulled a hand away to feel his eyes, to check to see if they were even open, inadvertently causing Bruce to drop his bandages and ointment every time. 

“Tony. Would you please?” Bruce said tightly, and Tony dropped his hand, taking a shuddery breath. He couldn’t see. His retinas had burned up in the light of the sun. His vision was gone. He was blind. He’d never be able to fly again, to build, to walk where and when he wanted. He was torn between barely contained panic and catastrophic internal shutdown. He felt his face again, wiping at the tears that seemed to stream constantly. Was he crying? Were his eyes trying to wash away the darkness? Tony took another shaking breath, shallower this time, tight in his throat. Shock, he thought distantly. He was in shock. He’d been here before. It wasn’t pretty.

“Hey. Tony, it’s going to be all right. Doctor Cho is waiting for us planet-side,” Bruce said, his voice significantly calmer, but sounding like a shout. Tony jumped, startled by the noise, and felt Bruce’s hands on his shoulders. “Take a few deep breaths, Tony. You starting to get lost inside yourself here,” Bruce said, and Tony sucked in a ragged breath.

“You’re goddamn right I am,” he bit out, waving an unseen hand in front of his face. “Do you know what this means? What it means for me? I don’t have a fucking accelerated healing factor like damn near everyone else we know.”

“Tone, we don’t even know if it’s permanent. Your helmet could have protected you from the worst of it, and you just need time. I told you. Doctor Cho is waiting, and you know she’s the best,” Bruce said with false calm. 

“I can’t believe- I-“ Tony started, dissolving back into silence. He was _blind._ He saw nothing but blackness. No shadows, no light, no movement, just infinite black. It reminded him of other dark places he’d been, of dark thought’s he’d had, and soon Bruce was trying to calm him again. His voice was distant, and Tony let himself be consumed by the pain, ignoring Bruce entirely. His burns, the muscle strain, the excruciating pain in his eyes; all of it was something to focus on, rather than his future. Or lack thereof.

When Peter’s ship thumped to the landing pad, Tony moved to stand unsteadily, but yelped in fear and discomfort when he was unexpectedly scooped up, his equilibrium spinning for a moment. 

“Bruce! What the hell!“ he said loudly, struggling, his words fading into a pained noise as he did so.

“It’s Drax,” Bruce said, his voice some distance away, and Tony stilled. 

“You seemed in need of assistance,” Drax said, his voice low and unbothered, and Tony shut up and just clutched his arm until Drax laid him on what must be a gurney. Tony jumped again when he felt a smaller, gentler hand touch his relatively unburned wrist.

“Tony, it’s Helen Cho, Bruce called ahead and told me your condition. We’re taking you straight to medical, I’ve got one of the best eye specialists in the world on call, okay?” she said kindly, and Tony groped blindly until she took his hand.

“You have to save my eyes, Helen,” Tony said, desperate and afraid, even though he knew that Helen couldn’t work miracles, no matter how skilled she may be. He heard her hesitation, and it felt like a boulder on his chest. 

“We’ll know more pending your examinations and scans,” she said carefully, and Tony let go of her hand, rubbing at his stinging eyes again until someone’s hand gently pulled his away from his eyes. It didn’t take much after that before he succumbed to his pain and panic, curled on himself despite the burns, clutching Bruce’s hand (it had to be Bruce) and sucking in strangled breaths until Helen injected him with something that was cold in his veins, letting him unclench and sink heavily into the gurney. He wasn’t even sure which direction his eyes were pointed. 

**  
_Rush_  
**

The lights and voices and antiseptic smells rushed around him in a blur, and Tony was limp and moveable as the doctors examined and treated him. He didn’t even cry out as they cut away the undersuit, peeling away thin layers of skin in some areas. He slipped in and out of coherency, blinking in confusion during a few excruciating moments of cognizance, gasping when wet, icy cloths were packed around him to cool his skin and bring his temperature down. 

He was fuzzy through the hours and hours of intravenous fluids and ice packs and gauze and treatments. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he would be blind, and Bruce would lead him around the penthouse by the elbow. He would close up his workshop and turn it into rental space. Sell his cars and give Rhodey the Iron Man suits. What was the point of anything? The earth was a speck, nearly destroyed mere hours ago. And its inhabitants continued to spin on, oblivious to what had happened. 

Distantly, he realized he was in a dangerous state of defeatist nihilism, that he couldn’t just _give_ up like that. But when the doctor began to tilt his head, pulling open an eyelid, Tony realized that she must be shining a light into his pupil to examine his retina, and he couldn’t see a goddamn thing. He squeezed his eyes shut, waving a hand in front of him and pushing the doctor’s hand away. 

“Stop it… _I can’t fucking see, I just…”_ he mumbled uselessly, only settling when Bruce gently took his hand in both of his, murmuring a wash of comfort over him. Tony allowed the exam, allowed bandages to be applied to his eyes, and sat in defeated silence when the room went quiet.

“Tony,” Bruce finally murmured, worried. 

“What.”

“How are you feeling? Do you need more water?” 

“No.”

“How are your pain levels? Have the drugs worn off?” 

“I’m fine.”

“Tony, _please._ Talk to me.” 

Tony turned his head in the direction of Bruce’s voice. 

“What? What do you want me to say?” he snapped unfairly, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. He was beginning to itch.

“I’m worried you’re in shock,” Bruce said, and Tony turned his face away again.

“You think?”

 

**  
_Pierce_  
**

As it turned out, Tony was able to avoid skin grafts, but he was in itchy agony as the burns began to heal. He idly rubbed at his bandaged forearm in a fruitless attempt to scratch, as Helen carefully unwound the bandages around his eyes.

“I think I’ve been seeing shadows, maybe flashes of light,” Tony said, his voice hopeful and nervous. 

“That’s a good sign, Tony,” Helen said, her voice also hopeful. “You may still have significant healing left though. So let’s take this slowly.” She removed the last eye pad and wiped gently at the ointment on Tony’s eyes. “All right, I have a lamp shining; open your eyes slowly, and tell me what you see.”

Tony took a breath, and followed her directions. He thought he saw a shadow behind his lids, and expected a piercing light to finally penetrate the darkness, but he touched his fingers to his eyes to make sure they were open, and his heart sank to his feet, stomach churning.

“I can’t see anything,” he whispered. He felt Helen’s fingers touch his face, tugging an eyelid open, and Tony blinked. There was nothing. He could tell Helen was trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

“It’s possible that retinal tissue regeneration could still occur, perhaps over the course of several months to a year… you could gain back partial vision, enough to see shadows and light, perhaps shapes…” she said, and took Tony’s hand. “We can get you on the list for eye transplants. With your status as an Avenger and the nature of your sacrifice, I’m sure you can easily be moved to the front of the line-“

“No.”

“Pardon?” Helen said, surprised.

“Tony, hear her out,” Bruce said, and Tony shook his head.

“I’m not- look, transplants are for people who need them, not idiots who flew too close to the fucking sun. I’m not gonna take an organ donation away from someone who deserves it,” Tony said, and he could practically hear Bruce’s lips pressing thin. 

“Tony. _You_ deserve a transplant. You single-handedly saved every life on this planet,” he said in a level voice. Tony was stubborn. 

“I’m not as important as you think I am,” he said. It was self-destructive, but hell, what else was he supposed to fall back on? A lifetime of instilled value and self-worth? The thought was laughable. He shook his head again, cutting Bruce off.

“I said no. I have resources that other people don’t. I’ll figure something out without taking eyes away from someone else.” 

Bruce and Helen were both silent for a long time, probably exchanging loaded glances, until Bruce sighed.

“All right, Tone. Just tell us what you need.”

**_Triumph:_ **

“Tony, I can’t build this. I’m not an engineer,” Bruce said, and Tony raked his ringers through his hair in frustration.

“I’m going to walk you through it, okay? It’s all in here, I don’t need to see what I’m doing to help you, I just need you to listen to what I say and build it,” Tony said, tapping his temple to indicate that the design was in his head, not just the blueprint.

“What if it’s not right? What if I build you prosthetic eyes, you have your eyes removed and these put in, and they don’t work? Any hope you had of your eyes being able to heal on their own will be lost. Gone. _Permanently,”_ Bruce said. 

“Okay! Jesus fuck, I get the point. But it’s been nearly a goddamn year, and nothing. No shadows, no light, no improvement. They’re burned out. Like a dead light bulb. My vision isn’t coming back. And the sooner we all get a grip on that, the sooner I can get them ripped out of my skull and have something better put in,” he said, emphasizing the “we” to specifically mean Bruce. 

“Don’t you have a way with words,” Bruce muttered.

“Come on. Bruce. You know I designed something that works. You _know_ it.”

“I don’t like you being a human test subject. These are prototypes.”

“Who else am I going to test them on? And you damned well know what kind of implications these could have in the world of prosthetics. Think of all the people who could have the opportunity to see again, or for the first time. Maybe something good can come of all this.”

Bruce snorted.

“Tony, you saved the world. Something good already came from this,” he said, and Tony crossed his arms. 

“You know what I mean.”

There was a long, silent moment, and Tony could tell Bruce was flipping through the holographic projections of schematics for the prosthetic eyes he’d designed, using hard light technology that he’d been developing shortly before the incident. It would work. He wouldn’t let himself believe anything different. Finally Bruce sighed. 

“I’ll do it.”

A month later, in a sterile workroom, Bruce bent over a tiny photonic receptor, navigating miniscule robotic probes, building the eyeball from the inside out. Tony sat nearby, vibrating with nerves, excitement, and academic thrill, the way he always did on a new project. He itched to be the one to see, the one to manipulate the raw materials into something miraculous. 

“Okay, now connect the ocular sensor to the main core. It’s the red wire, then pull the assembly-

“Too fast,” Bruce muttered.

“-up to the photon control plate, it’s the blue core that you built yesterday, attach the chips to the-

 _“Too fast,_ Tony!” Bruce said again, frustrated. “I’m still on the red wire.”

“Hurry up then.”

“I’m not rushing this, you need to calm the fuck down,” Bruce snapped quietly, and Tony bristled.

“You know, telling people to calm down is the best way to do the exact opposite,” Tony said coolly, and Bruce sighed heavily. 

“Fine. I’m sorry. You’re just- you work so fast, and this is like surgery. Go easy on me, all right? I want to get this right the first time.”

Tony sighed too, but a rare smile hinted at the corner of his mouth.

“Bruce. You’ll get it perfect. I know you will. Red wire. You got it yet?” he asked.

“Finally,” Bruce said after a moment, and Tony felt him coming near, sensitive to his body heat, and opened his arms to welcome him. Bruce tipped Tony’s chin up. “Good to see you smile again.”

Tony smiled openly, accepting a kiss from Bruce.

“Was I smiling? It was probably just gas,” he quipped, lingering on Bruce’s hand as Bruce moved back to his workstation.

“Always a charmer,” Bruce laughed, and Tony continued to guide him through the construction of his new eyes.

Over the next few months, Tony constantly grilled Bruce in every aspect of the technology, so that Bruce could assist with the surgery and prosthetic adaptation into Tony’s nervous system. 

“Tony, you’re asking me to be a surgeon now? And an engineer? And a neurologist?” Bruce asked in a frustrated voice one day, as Tony talked at rapid length about how to link the prosthetics with his optic nerve. Tony reached for Bruce, holding his hand out until he felt Bruce’s slip into his own.

“Honey. You’re a genius. You’ve got this so in the bag that you should have your own practice,” Tony said, and Bruce snorted derisively.

“Oh, please,” he muttered, but there was a slight smile on his tone for a short moment. “I just. Tony. I have to be honest, you’re putting me under tremendous pressure here,” he finally confessed. Tony slid his hands up Bruce’s arms to find his face and cup his cheeks. 

“Bruce. I trust you. I _trust_ you. Even if it isn’t a success, I’m not going to blame you. I’ll just keep coming back to the design until I find something that works. I promise you.”

Tony felt Bruce duck his head. 

“I’ll blame myself. I still blame myself,” he said very quietly. 

“Oh, Bruce…” Tony sighed softly, brushing a thumb over Bruce’s lower lip. “I left Peter’s ship on my own accord. You tried to stop me and I did it anyway. None of this is your fault.” He felt Bruce move closer, and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face into Bruce’s neck and breathing him in. 

“Honey, I just. I want to see your face again. I can’t even convey…” Tony faltered. The pain of his loss was immense. He suspected he wasn’t handling it well or mourning properly or being very accepting of his new physical needs, but he anguished about not being able to see Bruce’s face, to look at his green-flecked hazel eyes, the crinkles on his cheeks when he smiled, the endearing streaks of grey at his temples. He felt so isolated, even with Bruce there, not being able to see his quiet mannerisms, or read his body language, or see the gauntlet of breathtaking emotions on his face when they made love. 

And there was everything else. He couldn’t call himself Iron Man if he couldn’t even operate a suit. He missed the swoop in his stomach when he went flying, the adrenaline of a battle. He missed working deftly with his hands, creating as fast as he could think, bringing his visions to life without his body interfering. He missed sauntering through the penthouse without being on constant guard that a piece of furniture might have been moved a foot to the left without his knowledge. He sighed again.

“Please, Bruce. I need you,” he whispered, and Bruce held him tighter.

“You have me, Tone. Forever.”

“We can do this, you and me. Together. It’ll be our greatest triumph,” he said, grinning crookedly. Bruce barked a laugh, pulling back.

“If we publish a paper, my name goes first,” Bruce said, and Tony leaned forward to kiss him, catching his cheek by mistake, before finding his lips.

“Anything you want. Everything. The world. It’s all yours.”

A month after that, Bruce confidently assisted with the surgery, and Tony spent agonizing weeks bandaged while his nerves freaked the fuck out during the process of adapting to the prosthetic. Phantom images and shadows plagued him with both dread and hope, and the headaches kept him up for days at a time, restless, yet unable to wander.

When Helen finally removed the bandages, Tony kept his eyes closed, squeezing Bruce’s hand.

“Tony, honey, open your eyes,” Bruce said gently. Tony’s heart thumped in his ears, his throat, and his feet; everywhere but his chest.

He took a shaky breath and opened his eyes, then immediately squinted and shielded his eyes from the clear outline of the bright light pointed at his face.

**  
_Eclipse_  
**

“This is so surreal,” Tony murmured in the dim light, still in awe as he inspected himself in the mirror for the thousandth time. His eyes were _almost_ completely normal looking; his pupils were velvety black, the whites of his eyes were glassy and bright, and Bruce had even taken the time to painstakingly paint tiny, realistic veins in the corners. But his irises rather detracted from the realism. 

Made from hard light, or solid hologram, they glowed soft blue, similar to his arc reactor. The photonic array that comprised the surface of the iris responded to the light, vacillating appropriately so that images could be processed by the artificial retina, a tiny receptor that attracted light like a magnet. 

And he finally had his chance to brag about having a “real” superpower; his vision was greatly enhanced in clarity, distance, and darkness, and he could even pick up colors that extended slightly beyond the visible spectrum, causing him to spend hours a day just staring at ordinary objects and landscapes so he could see the new colors. He was also capable of pulling up HUD-like sensors and data in his visual field, the same as if he was in the armor itself. 

Bruce came up behind him in the mirror, watching Tony’s face glow in the soft light of his eyes, in the dim room.

“You know what they remind me of?” Bruce asked, and Tony flicked a glance at him, never once taking for granted a single moment that he got to look at his beloved. Tony drank him in endlessly now, afraid for a time when he might not get to. 

“What?”

“The corona of an eclipse. The ring of light surrounding the black. It’s beautiful,” he said, then kissed Tony’s shoulder with a smirk. “Never thought I’d fall for a guy with blue eyes, though,” he teased, only to earn an elbow from Tony. 

“I’m working on tweaking the photon emission particles for custom colors and patterns,” Tony said, pulling at his lower eyelid, looking closer. With his enhanced vision, he could see into his own pupil to see the cones and rods and retinal construct. He was seeing it, _seeing_ it, with eyes that he designed and Bruce made, and still didn’t believe it.

“I wish I had words to describe these colors to you,” Tony said as he settled back against Bruce’s chest. There’s one. It’s cool, almost like the deepest cobalt blue, but it… it’s- you can almost _touch_ it, it’s silky and… your eyes have flecks of it, with the green. And the sunset today. It was just so _vivid.”_

“Tony, you’ve done such a good thing. I’m so proud of you,” Bruce murmured, and Tony turned in his arms, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“No, you did it,” Tony said, smiling broadly.

“Okay, _we_ did it,” Bruce amended, smiling back.

“So you don’t mind my cyborg eyes?” Tony asked. Bruce laughed.

“Absolutely not. Especially when I see you smile again. You don’t know how much I’ve missed seeing you happy,” he said. “And you make a good nightlight, too.”

Tony laughed freely, the sound bubbling forth easily and happily. When he settled, he kissed Bruce thoroughly, then pulled back, memorizing Bruce’s face.

“Like the corona of an eclipse, hm? That’s very romantic,” he said, waggling his brows. 

“I’ve been known to be charming once or twice in my life,” Bruce said primly, only to make Tony laugh again.

“Maybe three times,” he said, kissing Bruce once more.

**  
_Yours_  
**

“It is because of Dr. Bruce Banner and Dr. Helen Cho’s genius, tenacity, and utter badassery that I am here today, looking out on you and seeing your faces. Being able to appreciate the scandalous look on Dr. Katarine Markovich’s face because I said the word _badassery_ during a Nobel acceptance speech. Being able to read the words on this medal and stand here in awe of this honor. I am deeply grateful to my fellow Nobel Laureates for the gift they gave me, in their dedication to indulging my whims as a creator.”

Tony hefted the medal in his hand, and looked to the side, where Bruce and Helen sat, beaming at him, their own medals in hand. 

“This is an honor that doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the people who stand to benefit from advancements in prosthetic engineering. It belongs to the brilliant physicians, scientists, engineers, and researchers who paved a path that enabled us to venture into the unknown. It belongs to the future, so that this progress may be built upon, continually improved, aggressively engineered, so that someday people will look back on this as quaint technology of an antiquated, medieval era.”

Tony turned fully to Helen and Bruce, who had already given their speeches, and his glowing eyes were full of gratitude and warmth. 

“Helen, this belongs to you. You guided Bruce and I into a field foreign to us both, with aplomb that dignifies your profession. Your kindness and patience should be awarded too, because I would have accidentally pushed me in front of a bus, if I were you. My patience was thin and my knowledge in your field thinner, and you led me through the waters of the unknown, so that I could work in my element with success.”

“Bruce, this belongs to you. You were my eyes, my hands, and my spirit throughout the entire process of creation. Your ingenuity as a physicist shaped the very structure of the photonic network, making flexible hard light possible. You took my experiments and made them tangible. And more, you kept me sane, and I don’t know how it wasn’t at the expense of your own sanity. You supported me, loved me, never gave up on me, and worked with me in a way that shattered barriers in medical treatment that will give mobility to hundreds of thousands of people worldwide. You are the first and last thing I look at every day, and I hope I have that privilege and honor for the rest of my life.”

Tony turned back to the audience and held up his medal, noticing with another small thrill the way the blue glow of his eyes glinted off the rich gold of the metal.

“I want to thank the nomination committee for considering our contribution and awarding me and my fellow Nobel Laureates in Physiology and Medicine this deepest honor. We have agreed that the award money will be used to start the _Looking Forward_ Endowment, to provide cutting-edge prosthetics to those who don’t have access to appropriate medical or financial resources. Stark Industries will match all donations.” 

Tony smiled; genuine, honored, and _happy._ He gestured for Bruce and Helen to join him at the podium. He held both their hands, humbled as his colleagues in science, medicine, and engineering looked back at them with pride.

“I am grateful to you all. A lifetime of influence from the greatest minds, past and present, has made this possible. As a futurist, I can already see the young minds of today shaping the landscape of tomorrow. This belongs to them. Humankind, this honor is yours. Thank you.”


End file.
